Disclaimer- Ehh… You probably know the routine by now: I don't own House, M.D. Not an inch of his cane, nor a strand of his hair. Maybe I own his tissue box. But who's counting?

-Chapter Two-

Late Birds

House leaned back in his office chair, drumming his fingers impatiently on the glass desktop before turning back to his Nintendo DS. Where were they? He'd had Cameron and Foreman paged even before he had gone to get his broken leg and ankle set.

Dee-dee-dee-dee. Dee-dee-dee-dee.

He automatically slapped his palm to his waist to turn off his pager, but his fingers met only his belt loop. Oh. Well, if it wasn't his, then…

"Don't stand at the door and stare. If you intend to be late, at least try to stay away from the person you're trying to avoid. It gets better results." House looked up from his videogame, and motioned for the two people he'd been waiting for to enter.

Foreman pushed open the door, and stepped into the spacious office. Cameron followed close behind. House motioned for them to sit in the chairs opposite his work area.

As they did so, House noticed that Cameron kept looking away. Had she been crying? By appearances, most likely, though she had tried valiantly to hide it. He mused as to how he should react. By his experience, Allison Cameron was a deeply emotional person. He forced himself to think of her as his colleague, but she always seemed determined to change his mind. He couldn't let that happen. Concern led to emotions, emotions led to attachment, and even the smallest loss in said state could lead to severe inability to think rationally and objectively of a situation. Still, for a moment, he considered asking if she was okay. Instead, he peered over the top of his videogame.

"Dr. Cameron, obviously you shouldn't be here."

The young doctor looked up at him. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Your condition. All symptoms point to Post-Lachrymatory Stress Syndrome." House smiled at the shocked look on her face. Common, though. It's usually known as 'that down feeling you get after a long, hard cry."

"Look, I-"

House sighed impatiently. "Foreman, the tissue box is closer to you. Please."

Foreman had just reached over to grab the box when Chase burst in through the door.

"Late. I already handed out the prizes. Early bird gets the neurocysticercosis."

The young Australian gave House an annoyed look.

"Grab a chair. The party isn't over yet. Sooo… What about that patient you went to pay a visit on? A… Mr. Zalinski?"

"Besides the two police stationed outside his room? Well, there's not a lot to say. I know you sent me to sedate him-"

"Oooh. How'd you guess?"

"-but he really didn't need it. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, yeah, bloodied up and bruised, but doing a Sudoku puzzle like he wasn't even hurt. When I talked to him, he seemed pretty lucid."

"But you did give him the sedatives?"

"Yeah. Ah, and he's been moved to room P187-"

House slammed his fist down on his desk. "P187? That's practically in the psych ward! He's got a chemical imbalance, not a personality problem!"

Foreman chuckled. "Not a personality problem? Sounds like you've already forgiven him. Didn't think you could-"

"What makes you think I forgive him? I don't. Kevin Zalinski is a patient. I, we, get paid to treat patients. Hating them until they die just results in medical malpractice lawsuits. Not that those aren't fun. There's a little thing called doctor-patient relationship: I don't try to murder him, he doesn't try to murder me. He didn't read the rule book. I hate not knowing who I can trust."

For a while, the room was silent. Then, House snapped his videogame shut, his eyes flickering over his colleagues' faces. He reached into his pocket for his bottle of Vicodin, only to find it empty. Wordlessly, he spun his office chair around, and pulled a pair of crutches out from behind his desk. Lifting himself up, he used them to carry himself to the door. There, he turned.

"I'll be back in a minute."

House propelled himself away from his office on his crutches. Thank goodness his office was only a short ways away from the elevator. As he made his way through the halls, he became more and more annoyed. His cast drew far more attention than his cane had. Baby blue. It was a bright, cheerful color, not his taste at all. They didn't have black. For some reason, it would have made the patients uneasy. Huh. And he most definitely preferred baby blue over the alternative: pink.

By some stroke of luck, the elevator arrived just as he reached it. The worst part, though, was the walk to the pharmacy. There, patients and doctors alike watched him out of the corners of their eyes. Like it wasn't obvious.

"Thirty-six Vicodin." There was a new pharmacist today, House noted. A young woman. She must have just arrived. The pharmacist placed a prescription bottle in front of him.

"Thanks." As he turned to leave, he found himself facing his best (and only real) friend.

Wilson greeted him with a cheerful "Hello."

"Oh… Hello." House couldn't return the enthusiasm. He continued to make his way back to his office.

"I thought I'd see you in a better mood today. You fought off a patient! I'm pretty sure that at least half of the doctors here dream of being able to fight their most annoying patients. And unless he's a masochist, I think you contributed to his numerous injuries. Canes hurt."

This elicited a smile from House. "He probably is a masochist, too. Just wanted a buzz. Now I'll have to deal with a lawsuit for assault. Or would that be medical malpractice?"

"Hey, people envy you. You disarmed him, then jumped out the window like James Bond. You're a… I believe the term is, 'bona-fide celebrity.'"

"Good faith? Not hardly!"

"…Heh. Anyways, about the condition of Kevin Zalinski-"

"That guy? What a pain in the leg. I'll check in on him myself, later."

Wilson was shocked. House had made a wisecrack about his own physical status. He never spoke about his right leg. Not since the infarction in his thigh, that several years previous, had lost him partial use of his leg. There had been a possibility, excluding operation, that he could have kept his leg whole. Or lost his life. It was exactly the kind of gamble that House would take over and over again, even after years, perhaps in hope that someday he might find proof that the odds could have been in his favor. Wilson knew that much of House's bitterness stemmed from the fact that he had been cheated of the gamble, by someone he had trusted. Someone he had loved…

"You sobered up fast. And before, you were telling me to cheer up!" House was staring at him with an amused grin. "Isn't it ironic?"

"Oh, shut up."

"No, seriously. Did you leave my front door unlocked or something?"

"No, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't let the whole world know that my wife and I are having troubles."

"What you're actually saying is "I don't want the world to know I'm sleeping over House's." Right?"

"You're an ass."

"Isn't it strange? I seem to be hearing that an awful lot, lately."

"I wonder why."

They continued down the hallways in silence for a while. House looked back at his friend. "So what would you have done if you had a patient pointing a gun at you?"

"I'm not really sure. Probably, get shot. Wait. How'd he get the gun past security measures?"

House mused for a second. "I can think of some pretty fun ideas. But if we're talking about logical stuff, then you should discuss this with everybody." House gestured at the glass door of his office, as they arrived. Once inside, he sat back down in his office chair. "Wilson. There are more chairs in the workspace. So. Can anyone think of a way that Kevin Zalinski could have smuggled a gun into a hospital?" He looked around at his colleagues' blank faces.

"Fruit basket?" Chase volunteered.

"No," Cameron countered, "He didn't get any gifts."

Foreman thought for a minute. "Maybe a family member slipped it under the mattress."

"Can't have," House muttered. "Visitors are always monitored. Wait. I like this one: he swallowed it."

Everyone stared at House.

"No? I guess if it accidentally went off like that, we'd have a very interesting case."

"It's not plausible, House." Wilson had found a chair and was sitting next to Foreman.

"Well, then," House said with a grin, "why don't we just ask the patient?"

Author's Note- Sooo… Ok, first of all, for those of you that don't know, didn't guess, or whatever, neurocysticercosis is a tapeworm in the brain. Second, I'm trying to avoid swapping character points of view. It will happen, though. I'll skip a line when I do, and hopefully you can tell when it happens. Anyway, will update faster with reviews.

Bye for now!

-P'Bantonox